


These Things That We Have Become

by Jamie_Moriarty



Category: The Blacklist (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Dark, F/M, Love/Hate, Post-Betrayal, Season/Series 06, Spoilers, Twisted, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-06 11:12:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17938631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jamie_Moriarty/pseuds/Jamie_Moriarty
Summary: All Hell breaks loose when Red finds out about Liz's betrayal. Liz discovers a secret of her own: just how dangerous Red can really be.





	1. Chapter 1

Red’s line "Lying to me doesn’t protect me…" is taken the TV show Suits. All the credit goes the writer of the excellent 2.5, Break Point, Suits episode. 

 

Red tried to reach into the recesses of his soul that housed his love for Elizabeth but all he found was emptiness and loathing. Some of the latter was directed at himself for the his blind and misguided trust in her. His sacrifices for her all mocked him now. He met his brother’s eyes, the hollowness in his chest overwhelming.

“Tell me there’s one person left in my life who didn’t betray me.”

“I was trying to protect you,” Dembe responded quietly.

Red shook his head and darted out of Dembe’s reach when his brother would have touched him. The pain in his upper abdomen stabbed at him, reminding him of the urgency of the wound. It could not match the ache in his heart, though.

“Lying to me doesn’t protect me, my brother. It betrays me.” 

Red saw pain flash in Dembe’s eyes and for the first time ever felt no urge to comfort him. Dembe was no longer a child. He was an adult who had made a decision. One that shattered Red. 

“I was going to tell you,” Dembe added.

“But you didn’t. You shouldn’t have kept it from me in the first place.”

“I was afraid.

“Of what?”

“Of the impact it would have on you. You were fighting for you life. I was afraid it would take away your will to live.”

“I’m always fighting for my life. If I need you for anything, it’s to be there for me. Not lying to me! Not betraying me!” Red paused, swayed on his feet, as he fought off a bout of nausea. He was losing blood too fast. “Is this punishment for Kate?”

Dembe started, the hurt in his gaze growing. “Of course not!” His gaze were fixed on the ever growing crimson spot at the front of Red’s shirt. “Raymond, you’re bleeding. You need help.”

He scoffed. “I can handle this myself… because at the end of the day, my brother, that’s what I am: alone. You, Kate, Elizabeth, any aide I ever had, the people at the Post Office I deluded myself into thinking they’re my friends… they’re just that: illusions of companionship that desert me when I need them the most. When it matters, I stand alone. Always!”

“That’s unfair, Raymond,” Dembe said, the wound Red had dealt evident in his tone. 

He smiled bitterly. “Take the box and go. I don’t want to see you… ever again!”

* * * * * * * * * *

The medical tray rattled to the floor, its content spilling on the cement. Red ripped off his blood soaked shirt. He was dizzy and his extremities felt cold. He was rapidly going into shock. He made a wild dash for the second tray at the end of the table. The needle bit into his flesh as he stitched the bloody, torn folds together, but he hardly felt it. His raspy breathing was loud in his ears. He wondered why he was doing this. He quickly cataloged his reasons for living and came up short. Everyone he had ever loved was either dead or had stabbed him in the back. Why fight to live under these circumstances? Why not let himself tumble to the floor and allow the blood loss to finish him off? And yet…. He kept stitching and he knew he would later hook himself to an IV filled with coagulants. He would not let himself die. Not for a person to whom he could dedicate his life. Not for Elizabeth. Not even for Dembe. Not for his mission and not for revenge. But for himself. Because as much as he resented what he had become, as little as recognized himself in the monster who stared back at him in the mirror, as scarred in every way that he was, there was still a tiny figment within his soul that valued himself. He wanted to live. He might be the disfigured fish at the bottom of a dark cave but nobody knew the darkness better than himself. Nobody knew how to survive within it better than he did. And nobody knew better how to make an ally out of the dark and channel it into an unstoppable force of vengeance.

“Rage, rage against the dying of the light,” he muttered before he slipped into the welcoming dark of unconsciousness. It was familiar. Like coming home. And in the last few seconds of lucidity he understood. This was where he belonged.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Dembe toyed with his cell phone in his hand. He had almost dialed Elizabeth several times but still he could not bring himself to go through with it. The words stuck in his throat. Would it damage his relationship with his brother further if he warned her that Raymond knew of her most recent betrayal? Raymond would never harm Elizabeth, of that Dembe was absolutely sure. Other than that, Elizabeth had made her choice. It was only fair she should face the consequences. Meanwhile, his brother could die. Nothing took precedent over that. Fully aware that his privileged status within the organization of the Concierge of Crime might have been revoked, Dembe set out to find his brother and if he could not mend their relationship, then at least, save his life one more time. 

* * * * * * * *

Liz trudged her dirty boots into her empty apartment and locked the door behind her.

“Honey, I’m home,” she said mockingly. Not even the echo answered her. She sighed, dropped her bag and removed her black leather jacket before toeing off her footwear. 

She made her way to the nearest couch and dived onto it, face first. She lay there for a few instants before switching to her front. Her well worn, black jeans felt like a second skin by now but then she had no reason to dress up. Her outfit was completed by a plain, black T-shirt. She had to be up and ready to go at a moment’s notice. Plain and familiar was best for that. She squirmed to remove her gun from its holster at her back and put it down on the floor next to her left foot. She felt a little like Red, constantly on the run. Her heart clenched painfully at the thought of him. The cause of that was too terrible too contemplate so she pushed it out of her mind. Red had recently escaped from prison and her relief at it was palpable if hard to acknowledge. Perhaps it would be over this way. Dembe had agreed to keep her secret. Maybe she had gotten away with it. That meant she could store away what she did in the same corner of her mind that housed her doubts about Tom, herself, her fantasy family life and the kind of mother she was. She shook her head. No, she would not think of any of that. Ever! She had to find out who the imposter was. Yes, that was something she could think of. And after she learned his secret? Well, then she would find something new to keep her from meandering too deep within the well of self-awareness. Anything so she wouldn’t have to dwell on what she had done, what she had become or worse, on the fact that it might not be Red’s fault, after all.

She got up and ambled into the bathroom. Once there she tied her into a ponytail and washed face. When she lifted her eyes from the white porcelain of the sink, too late did she notice Red staring at her in the mirror. He wore all black too: black hoodie, black pants, and looked like Death or at least, a dark avenging mythical creature. His face was hard, carved as if from granite. The unforgiving look in his eyes told her everything she needed to know. He knew. She froze staring back, as if she were a hapless rat hypnotized by the eye of the snake. She didn’t react even when a black leather cloaked hand put a piece of chemicals infused cloth over her mouth, one arm wrapping around her waist like a steel band. An old instinct to feel safe in his arms, as if she had just arrived home, surged to the forefront, making her sink deeper into her paralysis. By the time she had fought it off sufficiently to begin to struggle, it was too late. She had been breathing into the chemicals for one second too many. Her head was already swimming and her extremities felt like molasses. His grip on her tightened, her back pressed against his hulking, compact front as if against a brick wall. Her head lolled on his massive shoulder. He wasn’t speaking, he hadn’t uttered a single word she saw him, something that should have unnerved her to no end. She knew all too well what Red did to traitors. Despite that, the thought that he was just making a point and wouldn’t truly harm her was the last thought she had before slipping into darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

Liz awoke slowly, reality coming into focus in increments. First, it was the sensation of her head feeling incredibly heavy, then her mouth that felt overstuffed with cotton and her scratchy, dry throat. She coughed a little and opened her eyes. The semi-obscurity was blurry then began to clear. It didn’t afford for much of a view. Everything around her was drenched in shadows. She coughed again. Her throat was as gritty as her eyes. Then a glass rim was pressed to her parched lips.

 

“Drink,” said a familiar, low rumbling voice.

 

The command brook no argument yet argue she did. She shook her head furiously provoking a fresh bout of nausea. She swallowed as she fought to keep her stomach from climbing into her mouth.

 

“Suit yourself,” came the reply.

 

It was then that she registered the music. A soft, haunting jazz tune completely out of synch her current predicament. It sound odd, with tiny pauses and cackles in the sound. A record, she realized. It all came back to her in a flash: the bathroom, Red’s cold, hard-set face in the mirror, the cloth over her mouth…. The bastard had kidnapped her. Again! She tried to kick but her legs refused to budge. She pried her eyes opened again. She didn’t recall closing them. The faint darkness was a little more welcoming this time. There was a sliver of gauzy light coming from somewhere outside wherever she as being held because the place held no illumination of its own. The preciously few rays silhouetted a man. The music kept playing. Liz was suddenly able to identify the discomfort in her arms. She was bound. Her arms were stretched above her head pinning her to the ceiling. As were her legs. Her still bare feet had a hard time reaching the floor because her ankles were tied to a ring on the floor.

The discomfort hadn’t grown into an ache yet but she knew it was only a matter of time until it would. However, it also had a beneficial effect: it served to wake her further, despite the slight swaying sensation she felt that had to be caused by whatever drug he had given her.

 

“Let me go,” she croaked, wishing her voice had carried more impact.

 

“No.”

 

Liz replied with a suggestion that he did something anatomically improbable with his person. It was quite creative, even if she did say so herself. Anger was making her ears ring. Red chuckled. Then a jet of ice cold water rained down on her. She sputtered, shocked, allowing more than a few drops to land in her mouth. She shrieked and twisted in her bonds, fire hot fury standing in direct contrast with the temperature of her now damp hair and top. Despite the indignity, she couldn’t deny she felt oddly refreshed and her mouth was less dry. The cold water had acted like a jet of espresso injected straight into her veins.

 

Before she realized it, he was closer and tugging a wet, errand hair lock that had escaped from her ponytail behind her left ear. She tried to turn her head and bite him but he withdrew, fast as a cobra.

 

“Feeling better?” he asked dryly.

 

She repeated her earlier obscene suggestion, this time with the added bonus of several adjectives.

 

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded. “Have you completely lost your mind?”

 

“On the contrary, Masha, I think I’ve just found it.”

 

She didn’t like the sharpness in his tone when she called her _Masha_. “My name’s Elizabeth.”

 

“No, it’s not. That’s the name your father invented for you. You were born Masha Rostova. And the real identities of people are suddenly important to you, even though you wear a name that’s not yours. Even though you married a man with an invented identity again and again….”

 

“Don’t you dare say his name!”

 

“Or what?”

 

She could hear his steps as he drew closer again.

 

“What are you going to do, Masha, if I say Tom’s name?”

 

He was so close their noses almost touched, his hot breath running on her cool lips. She was starting to get cold but her ire kept her smoldering inside. She spat in his general direction. He laughed, the sound devoid of all the warmth she was used to. Now it was only a sharp shard of broken glass stabbing at her.

 

“Exactly,” he replied stepping away. “That’s the fully extent of what you can do now.”

 

“If you’re going to kill me,” she groused. “Just do it! Spare me the lecture.”

 

She saw his hand lift in the sliver of light and the flash of metal. He was holding his trusty Browning HiPower side arm on her. Her chest contracted painfully. The chill spread all the way to her fingers and toes.

 

“Red,” she whispered.

 

He wouldn’t actually do it, would he? Red had kidnapped her before, so this was not new territory, however, back then he hadn’t harmed a hair on her head. Of course she hadn’t all but put him on death row at the time, either. And she had seen first hand what Red did to traitors. What Red did to Kate. But it had never occurred to her that the same fate might ever befall her. She was the exception. She was safe, no matter what she did. But what if that had changed?

 

“Did you spare me the lectures when I was fighting for my life?” he asked, his voice low and menacing. She had never heard that lethal edge directed at her before. “No, Masha, you kept hissing and hissing like a serpent in the dark accusing me of every point I had been driven to by you. I couldn’t understand. Surely you knew all I was doing was to save myself but then… once I knew you put me in that cell… it finally dawned on me. You resented the actions I took because you didn’t want me to succeed. You wanted me to die. You knew very well what would happen if I was arrested and yet you went for it. You wished me dead but didn’t have the nerve to look me in the eye and do it yourself. So you tried to murder me by proxy.”

 

“That’s not true,” she spat and realized a second too late she was hissing again.

 

“Whenever I want someone dead,” he went on as if she hadn’t spoken at all. “I extend them the courtesy of doing it myself. Face to face, if that could be arranged.”

 

He moved and she heard a scrapping of metal on metal. Then the lights came on, strong and impossibly white, blinding her. She missed the darkness at once. When she managed to get used to the light if only a little, she fixed her squinting eyes on him. She had no time to take in on her surroundings. She was fighting for her life. Something dawned on her too. She wasn’t ready to die. Not even close. She did a quick mental assessment of the situation: she was tied up, helpless, captured by a man she couldn’t hope to match in terms of sheer physical strength. All she had left was the power she knew she yielded over him. The power Tom had taught her by example how to harness.

 

“You’d never leave Agnes motherless.”

 

A bullet whistled by her right ear, embedding itself somewhere in the wall behind Liz.

 

“Agnes deserves better than a mother who constantly abandons her and left her with the woman who tried to hill her before she was even born…. They won’t work, Masha. Tom’s tactics. They won’t work here. They won’t work on ,e. Did you really think I wouldn’t recognize what you’re doing after all the times I warned you about him? After the way I begged you not to marry you? Did it give you a thrill to see the Concierge of Crime humiliate himself like that before you? What about all the times afterwards? It’s over, though. The age when you could do and say anything to me and I would only respond with pleas and more of coming after you has finally, irrevocably come to an end. You’ve called me a monster many times but you never learnt what it truly meant. You never met the monster. Allow me to introduce us. I promise you, before this is over, we will get very well acquainted.”

 

A shudder ran through her. “Are you going to torture me?”

 

“You’re afraid,” he diagnosed. “You should be. I can inflict terrible damage that’s not reduced to the physical.”

 

“I’m not going to beg you or apologize for what I’ve done. You’re a criminal. You belong in prison. You belong on death row.”

 

“So do you. Or have you forgotten you killed the Attorney General? You were perfectly at ease accepting my aid when it served your exoneration. What about all those you killed in your quest to avenge Tom? Where do you belong, Masha?”

 

“Don’t presume to compare us. Your body count is so much higher than mine.”

 

“Ah, but you’re young. Take heart! Your body count still has plenty of time to improve. You have decades more to kill, main and inflict untold pain and rationalize it all away or blame it on somebody else. Tell me, if the justice system had succeeded in killing me, who would have been your escape goat then? On whom would you have pinned all your many, many failings?”

 

“You’re the one to talk about rationalization! All you do is justify yourself. How many times have you said those you killed deserved it?”

 

“Every time, because it was an objective truth. I don’t pretend it makes what I did any less wrong. I’m a violent man who does horrific things that are nobody’s fault by my own. I’ve done one or two of those things to you too, most notably when I killed Sam, but that does not entitle you to an endless carte blanche from me. When I told you remind me of your mother, I didn’t meant it as a compliment. The more the time passes, the more I see her in you: the callous, calculated manipulator who betrayed everyone and used her own daughter like a pawn in a power play. I suspect she didn’t leave you with someone like Scottie because there was nobody like that at the ready at the time.”

 

“You’re lying.”

 

“I have never lied to you,” he replied but without any of the feeling that was usually beneath that pronouncement. This time it sounded clinical as if he was commenting on the weather. “You once asked me if your mother was a bad person. I didn’t give you an answer because to this day I haven’t received one myself. I have no idea who Katarina Rostova was. Everyone who ever knew her remembered a wildly different person. My own recollection of her doesn’t match any of those versions. Your mother had an uncanny ability to read people and instantly transform into whoever the other person needed her to be: the exotic mistress, the mysteriously alluring lady of the manor, the sympathetic friend, the reliable co-conspirator, the free-loving bohemian…. I had never met anyone like her and would not meet again… until Tom. You’re a strange mix of your mother and having fallen for a man just like her.”

 

Liz struggled against her restraints which seemed to be a type of leather cuffs. They bit uncomfortably into the skin of her wrists and needles and pins sprang into her upper arms at her wild trashing. She ignored the physical discomfort. There was a howling beast unfurling in her chest. He sounded so detached, as if he was examining her like a bug under a microscope. She hated him for it. She hated him and desperately wished that what he was saying was a lie despite the ring of truth his words bore. He had barely touched her and he was already hurting her.

“I don’t believe you.”

 

“No, you usually don’t. I suspect it’s because you have a hard time hearing the truth. I wonder how much your resentment is rooted in my insistence on not lying to you. You love being lied to, Masha. Make no mistake, that’s the kind of love your obsession with Tom was based upon. At least in that, you differ from your mother. Ever the strategist, she was keen on the truth because it allowed her to make informed decisions. It’s one of the few things I could glean about her.”

 

He put his gun on nearby small metal table that housed something covered with a tarp to one side. She was wary of discovering what that was but suspected she would find out before it was over all the same.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are much appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Please comment and share your thoughts on my story.


End file.
